


safety's off, thanks for the tip

by moon_hedgehog



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is a serial killer, F/M, Horror, Mild Gore, Modern AU, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, charlie is a final girl, there's some symbolism and references scattered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_hedgehog/pseuds/moon_hedgehog
Summary: if Charlie is supposed to be an exemplary final girl, falling right under the trope's definition, she certainly doesn't want this.
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	safety's off, thanks for the tip

**Author's Note:**

> early halloween fic!  
> title's from happy death day, because i unironically found this movie amazing.

Every final girl in her beloved movies is blond - this is perhaps the first and ultimate trait Charlie has acquired as well. She puts her hair in a ponytail, tying it up-up with red ribbon, and jumps out of the dorm in high combat boots and flowery jacket. She is a darling only daughter, university’s princess, the coolest person in the room whatever room it is. She has never truly experienced grief, or pain, or hardships. And she doesn’t know how to shoot a gun.

So in contrary of the first statement, characters like her are most likely to end up cheerleaders. Tall and annoying; with fake nails, fake eyelashes, and fake hearts - they prey on silent ones with dark hair, smart mind, and empty wallets. In other scenarios they’re whores, hooking up with the new professor in town (“—heard about him?” mutters Husk in the halls, books pressed to chest. “Think his name is Alastor or something.” Angel Dust huffs. “Like the demon?”) and kissing every new football field king on the lips. They can only scream and moan, toying with two ultimate concepts of horror and lust. They get no chance to show wolfish teeth. They always die first.

But this time, maybe only this time and not one other, she is not the first. The first is a young boy with shortcut and doe eyes, lying in a pool of his own blood deep in the woods, like a sacrifice to a stag god. There are deep holes in his throat, a wound in his stomach. Charlie is not dumb. She knows - sacrifices take virgins. (And she and Vaggie have already had their share of fun, but it’s not exactly the same, right).

The town is standing on edge as new victims emerge, all torn apart, hunted down like rabbits. Considering the lockdown of borders, the mayor talks and talks and talks - blah blah blah, protection of our children is the ultimate goal of our system - and Charlie shuts the tv off, spilling red-red ketchup on her fries. So she falls under no category, being goody-two-shoes and a rebel at once, smoking on breaks and hushing bullies with a glance. The case gets out of hand, knots and tangles in itself like a ball of golden thread. So she is Ariadne. She takes it in her hands. Her opponent is no Minotaur, yeah. He’s much smarter than a beast with no compass but carnal desires (he, because it’s always he; because she knows it’s he). He’s a mastermind. So she is his endgame.

In her pocket now a small knife, and she digs into the paperwork and gossip like a trained miner. Sometimes she’s interrupted.

“Miss Magne. Greatest pleasure meeting you.”

And these interruptions are never unwelcome. His name really is Alastor - he smiles wide-open, brown hair full of leaking amber, words trained at the back of the throat, always ready to console and please. Charlie heard he was a radio host before changing his life, moving to a new place, and becoming a professor. She feels him eyeing her closely, always. It’s an obvious cliche. She kisses him in the dead of the night, after a cinema with an age-old zombie film, and thinks - it’d be even more of a cliche was he married.

And then she finds more little, scattered clues. They all are so cleverly hidden that upon looking through them all, fall victim two new teens; all students, all innocent. Fertile, even. She feels disgusted. Not for long. Observe and study - that’s what Charlie’s mom says as a good-luck charm, styling her daughter’s hair with a hot curling wand. Charlie feels herself incredibly vulnerable putting on a short red dress; she is more of a survive type, more of a “I can and will take it”. On their very first - and last - date, she pushes Alastor against the wall like a needy slut, feeling the urge of survival dancing on skin; and he’s hesitant, he is, but she makes him make love to her. He is probably asexual, occurs to her the next day in his bed and clothes, surrounded by his smell. But she isn’t a dead girl anymore. At least she - isn’t.

Is pocket knife a good enough weapon? “Teach me how to shoot,” she pleads Alastor and he agrees. After all, his father was a hunter. He carries on the tradition.

+

Every final girl in her beloved movies is stranded somewhere - a cabin in the woods, an island, a holiday. But it’s way too soon for Halloween, and Angel Dust (red heart-shaped lollipop in his mouth) invites their group to a summer camp. Charlie smirks so goddamn wide at this, but the killings have decreased massively, and hey, shan’t students have some fun before the start of boring classes? It’s not like she’s gonna have any good shag, anyway. (This was quite abrupt - how she and Alastor just ended it with winter, almost like Hades and Persephone, separated). She jumps into an ugly truck, armed with a cute bag, and touches the needles of pine trees on their way, half-out of the car window. At the sight of their destination - not quite abandoned, lively in fact - Vaggie puckers her nose and throws a glance at her B F F. Yeah. They both sense it alright. It’s already there, the smell of “maybe we should get out of here before shit starts getting real”; but they don’t, of course. No, they swim in the lake, and play guitar around the fire, and make plans for the big and unknown future.

And Charlie is incredibly happy.

Then, the first girl falls prey. She’s killed swiftly, not in the murderer’s manner at all. This is no more with ritualistic purpose. Just to bring attention. And Charlie’s attention is brought alright.

The next night, she’s with Husk and things go drastic. Abruptly there’s screaming and then she’s throwing a knife in the direction of a distorted shadow near the camp, and then she’s chasing it. But her legs can’t carry her long, and in the end, it’s just a game of luck. When she returns, everyone is alive. But Charlie isn’t satisfied-

no, remember: she’s a crazy bitch, a whore in heat, a bloodshed, a princess not-anymore-virgin? She’ll set this camp aflame if needed, she’ll drench it in gasoline and light the match.

“Then what’cha waiting for, hon?” asks Angel (in another, different story, it is he who’d be the final girl, they both know it).

Nothing. Just him. Her Minotaur. Mastermind. Stag god.

He’s not taking long, though. But eventually does manage to catch her off-guard. Because it’s _him_. She wanted to lock that possibility in a drawer of baseless paranoia, but it’s him. Was she blinded by feelings before? Too deep into the underworld to take notice of blood-stained walls around?

He lures her into the woods. She knows how to shoot a gun, and soon there’s a blood trail after him. What would he look like, a fallen forest deity, a hunter turned prey? She finally catches up to him, determined to bring it all to its finish; but pressing a mullet straight to his forehead, she finds herself unable to do such a simple movement of a finger.

“Ah. Don’t be afraid, darling. It gets easier with time.”

Alastor smiles with his cracked lips and Charlie thinks _fuck_ he can’t kill me and I can. I should, in fact. Blood of her kin boils in her veins like a poison. If he’s a tradition keeper, so is she.

+

Every final girl in her beloved movies stays with it. All the memories of what she did or didn’t are carefully canned in her mind, put in the back, saved for future generations. Charlie is no exception - though, she refuses to let go in a quite extraordinary way. She learns how to tame a monster.

“Don’t you think it’s unfair?” Vaggie asks her when they’re back at home, full of memories and bruises. She’s always the voice of reason.

And yes, it perhaps is. Charlie feels too full of herself. But she’s always been an idealist. Always an “this may feel bad, but I’m saving you”. Final girls never get that chance. But they also never fall in love with their hunters.

“I think I’m the exception,” she answers.

The academic year starts anew, as she puts her hair in a ponytail, tying it up-up with black ribbon, and jumps out of the dorm in high combat boots and jacket with pomegranate embroidery. As her friends - all three of them, survived - chat in the halls, she runs up the stairs and enters the class.

“Miss Magne. Greatest pleasure seeing you.”

Alastor looks dandy as always, smiles like he’s the winner; but they both know better. Charlie didn’t kill him back that night - she threw the gun away. In its place, she took a chain and a blood-stained key, and locked their hearts together: a final girl and a murderer, a lamb and a slaughterhouse.

And maybe she has no right to call herself what she’s been calling herself all this time. Maybe she’s a monster, too. Maybe she’s Bluebeard’s bride.

Either way - she thinks, eyeing him like a sacrifice to her ritual - I’m powerful and dangerous and I’m not letting you go.

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on [tumblr](https://moon-hedgehog.tumblr.com/) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/moon_hedgehog) ♡


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